


Everything Happens So Much Forever

by musiclily88



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, American - Freeform, Everyone is beautiful, F/F, Gay Chicken, M/M, No Homo, somehow I managed to add in femmeslash too whatever, this is so stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 03:59:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7602541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclily88/pseuds/musiclily88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Concept: Lilo no homo?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything Happens So Much Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Louis and Liam play a bit of gay chicken, Eleanor and Sophia are ~gal pals~ and everything is ridiculous at the frat house

Chugging stuff has become Liam’s whole life lately, which is new and different, but his sisters said _get out there and socialize, meet some new people!_ and his mother kept giving him mournful eyes whenever he expressed nerves about starting his freshman year, so he’s—pledging a frat. He’s pledging a frat and he’s drinking a lot of cold beer, now that his weird kidney isn’t so weird (hopefully), and he’s meeting people.

And it’s _bizarre._

Liam hasn’t ever been popular—hell, no one really came to his sixteenth birthday party except family, which is not something to dwell on now—but being in a frat is sort of like…having friends. 

Or, nearly being in a frat.

“Pledge! Fetch me a beer!” he hears, and suddenly he has someone hanging all over his neck like they’re both drowning in the ocean.

And when Liam looks over, he thinks he might be actually drowning, because _Louis_ is the one hanging off his neck, Louis the upperclassman, Louis the cornerback, Louis who’s looking at him like he’s won the whole world.

Maybe he’s no longer drowning, and maybe he is. 

 

He’s definitely drowning when Soph plops down in his lap and feeds him a shot of tequila, when she pets at El’s hair—and El is also sort of on top of him, their legs tangled up together and their hips bumping against one another, and a bit of her hair is in his mouth.

And then Louis comes crashing into them, in a good way not a bad way, because Louis is everything.

“Leemo, come on! We’re playing a game!”

Liam scrunches up his face. “We are?”

“Come on!” He unceremoniously yanks at Liam’s wrist, which upsets both Soph and El, so they tumble together onto the ratty sofa, giggling into one another. Liam looks at them apologetically until Louis slaps him in the face.

“Come on what?” Liam asks stupidly, his vision tracking sluggishly. He’s had maybe too many drinks.

Louis cackles. “Not the right question, pledge Li. Drink!” He hands Liam a solo cup, and the beer is lukewarm but Liam drinks about a third of it. “Good boy.”

“What game, then?” Liam asks, coming up for air.

“Chicken.”

“Oh?” Liam knows chicken, and he’s getting—accustomed to the gross beer.

“Gay chicken.”

Liam chokes.

 

 

Liam manages fine watching El snake her hand up Soph’s leg and neck and into her hair, but then he starts to get flushed when El just, like, clambers into Sophia’s lap like it’s nothing at all.

From the loud cheers occurring, it seems to be more than _nothing,_ and Liam also catches a significant glance between Eleanor and Soph. 

“They’re a pretty pair,” Louis sighs, toppling onto Liam’s legs where he’s—since when has he been sitting in the puke-green butterfly chair? He’s distracted, is the thing. That’s the thing.

“Yeah,” Liam agrees, distractedly.

“Up next?”

“Nah, I’m—” and Liam wants to say that he’s _good, all set,_ but El and Soph are kissing and there’s not a whole lot of _chicken_ involved in full-on make-outs, so he melts into Louis’ loose-limbed embrace.

“Up next,” Louis insists, yanking at Liam’s hair. He’s let it go curly again, and he’d think maybe it was a disaster but for Louis’ constant need to play with it literally all of the time.

“Up—” Liam begins, but then Louis is crowding into him and shoving at his shoulders, and Liam can’t say anything at all.

“No homo, yeah?” Louis says, planting his lips directly onto Liam’s, and that’s the precise moment Liam just, like—dies.

::

And everything would be easier if Louis would just _let_ Liam die, but he keeps showing up everywhere.

Thankfully Louis’ not in Liam’s bedroom because as a pledge he can’t really get digs in the frat house yet, but Louis _does_ show up nearly every time Liam’s at the gym and for roughly half of Liam’s meals at the dining hall, and Louis definitely shows up at every frat party. Mostly because Louis essentially runs the place, but also because he’s the life of the place.

And once, just once, he kissed Liam, and somehow, that’s all that happens to matter.

::

After _chug!_ comes, no pun intended on coming, _no homo,_ because after that first kiss, Louis becomes insistent. _Manic_ levels of insistent. _Wild_ levels of insistent.

Louis becomes insatiable.

He daily hops into Liam’s lap without so much as a _hello,_ which is very distracting and is keeping Liam from studying econ—or, English, or something important. Except nothing’s really important but for the writhing feel of Louis’ thighs on top of his, and in particular the way Louis’ ass always seems to settle, solidly, onto Liam’s groin.

And then the inevitable _no homo,_ which makes Liam deflate while also settling his nerves.

And then he sighs, because _no homo,_ and he can handle this.

::

Or something.

He can handle his own dick in the shower, even though the showers are communal, because he grew up as the youngest of three and he knows how to be quiet; he can handle his weird roommate Harry who’s uncomfortably fond of fancy candles and organic foot-scrubs; he can certainly handle hazing from a few fratty douchebags.

But what Louis’ doing isn’t really _hazing,_ Liam thinks. 

Really, what makes it worse is the idea that Louis might be serious.

::

Liam’s favorite coping mechanism is avoidance—and, thanks, Psych 101, he tells himself mentally, as he darts through the Chem building on the way to his Anthro class, which is not at all a shortcut, but it is away from Louis’ scheduled Shakespeare course.

Because Liam knows that, and Liam is falling to pieces.

Rather than doing something useful like buying himself a coffee or making sure he has some pens and backup pens and his laptop—well, rather than doing that, he runs full-stop into a group of people huddled around a skateboard. Louis’ skateboard, really, because of course, but also, Harry is there looking bemused and maybe pitying, along with a third person Liam thinks might be called Niall, who has on a happy grin.

“Oh god,” Liam says, because that is the first thing he can think to say, and it’s also the second thing he can think to say. The third is, “Sorry.”

“Y’allright there, Leemo?” Louis asks, easy as anything, because he is the way he is.

“Sure.” Liam stutter-steps away, shouldering his backpack up higher on his back.

“Hey, actually, let me walk you,” Louis offers, waving a hand to Harry and Niall and waiting a moment until they depart. “Where you headed?”

“You didn’t—you don’t have anything better to do?” Liam chokes out, face going pink and warm.

Louis shrugs, bending down to pick up his skateboard. “Beautiful day, beautiful boy. What better is there to do than walk?”

Liam wants to nod, but he falters. “Oh.”

Louis’ face shutters, but then he takes a breath, and again his eyes are light. “Oh?”

Liam bites the inside of his cheek and nods. “Better than.”

Louis shoots out his arm, hand splayed. He throws Liam a flash-shot grin. "Grab on if you’re not chicken.”


End file.
